


I went to hell last night

by AsphodeleSauvage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Destiel Becoming Canon On 5 November 2020 (Supernatural), Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Resurrection, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27622253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsphodeleSauvage/pseuds/AsphodeleSauvage
Summary: Castiel wakes up in the Empty to find Dean by his side.In which Dean frees Cas from the Empty, brings him home, and takes care of him.Lyrics from "I went to Hell last night" by Mika.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 33
Kudos: 181





	I went to hell last night

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry I'm posting it so late and it is long and unedited and unbeta-ed, because my keyboard is dying and typing a story without the letter T and the inverted commas is a torture I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Please pray for my laptop, I need it.  
> Hope you will like it nevertheless.

**_I went to hell last night_ **

This was a nightmare. This was torture.

He had always known that he was not a good angel. That he was a failure at best and a monster at worst. A malfunction, a disappointment, a letdown; he kept trying but it was always worthless. Useless, good for nothing; traitor, bad friend.

That was what they were all saying, and they were right. Naomi, Metatron, Chuck, Zachariah, Raphael, all of them. If they had been laughing and taunting him, perhaps he would have believed they were monsters too. But as it were, their faces were long and serious, their words cutting and concerned and bitter.

_The angel with a crack in his chassis._

There were bodies scattered all around him. His siblings, murdered by his blade. His siblings again, fallen victim to his wars. Angels and humans he killed. Angels and humans he hadn’t been able to save. The bodies were innumerable.

Sam without his soul; Sam without his sanity; Sam dying; Sam tortured.

Jack, dead. Jack, hurt. Jack, remorse and self-hatred in his eyes, shattered from the inside.

Claire, breaking down; Claire, bruised all over; Claire, angry and grieving (and Jimmy Novak, too, and his wife).

Kelly, dead, oh so dead.

Charlie, Rowena, Meg, even Crowley.

And Dean. Dean with black eyes; Dean with angry eyes; Dean crying; Dean bruised; Dean broken; Dean in distress; Dean calling him; Dean bleeding; Dean hating himself; Dean desperate; Dean spiralling.

One part of Castiel was screaming in agony over all his wrongs. Another was crying, bitter and remorseful. He had never hated himself more.

**_Followed you there, I was standing by your side_ **

“Cas. Cas. CAS!”

Castiel didn’t notice immediately. There were so many Deans lying in this white, cold room – the thousands of Deans he had killed, and all the others, the true Deans, that had suffered because of him, or because he was never able to comfort him, to wipe the tears he never allowed himself to cry and to soothe his beautiful, yet burdened soul.

“CAS! Cas, wake up!”

Dean’s voice kept yelling, though. And it grew more and more desperate. But all the versions of Dean were crying, screaming, begging, whimpering (except the ones that were dead, of course), so the difference was not very noticeable. Yet there was an edge to this voice in particular that make something move inside him.

“CAS! Cas, _please_... It’s me... Please, wake up...”

The voice was growing clearer, and he was confused. This Dean was not begging for him to stop doing something or to come back or to help him, but simply to wake up.

Wake up... angels couldn’t sleep... Unless...

It came back to Castiel then, with the force of a tornado hitting his face. The Bunker. Billie. The Empty. _I love you._

He turned on his heels, and there Dean was. His Dean, the real Dean. Standing by his side.

**_The saddest thing I've ever seen_ **

“Dean,” Castiel said, breathless.

Dean gave him a smile; it made Castiel’s grace leap in his vessel.

“Cas. Come on. Wake up.” And Dean stretched his hand towards him.

“You can’t be here,” Castiel said, incredulous.

“Well, here I am,” Dean answered nonchalantly. His hand was still outstretched and waiting for Castiel to take it. It was too good to be true.

“It must be a dream,” Castiel said, slowly.

Dean shook his head and looked around them, frowning. His face was sad. “ _That_ place is a dream. This – Cas, nothing of this is real. It’s the Empty. It’s created this nightmare.”

“It’s all true, Dean. This – All of these things are my doing, one way or another.”

“A crack in his chassis,” Naomi whispered. Chuck echoed her, sternly. “A crack in his chassis.”

“OH, SHUT UP!” Dean screamed.

**_Made me angrier than I've ever been_ **

“Cas, come on. I’m not leaving you here. You won’t rot in Hell. Come with me,” Dean insisted. “Don’t listen to them, Cas, please.”

“Dean –”

“This place – you can’t stay here, alright? You gotta come with me.”

“Dean –”

Castiel knew he could not come back. He deserved to be there. The voices were getting louder. _Failure! Abnormal! Abomination! Traitor! Terrible friend!_

“Don’t fucking listen to them, okay?” Dean roared. “Take my hand, Cas! Come with me. I fought to get there. Sam and I, we fought – we researched – and Jack helped us – The Empty, she won’t – she won’t let me here for long, Cas! It’s our only chance!”

_DISAPPOINTMENT! KILLER! KINSLAYER! BACKSTABBER!_

“You’ve come back before,” Dean said more softly. His eyes were brimming with tears, Castiel realised with horror. He was making Dean suffer, once again. “Cas, please, don’t –“ This was Dean begging, he realised belatedly. “Cas. Please wake up. I need you.”

_I need you._

_What broke the connection?_

_I need you._

Cas was never able to say no to Dean. Not when Dean needed him; not when Dean wanted him; and especially not now that he knew that Dean had come to the Empty for him, had fought for him.

Perhaps he was wanted, after all.

Castiel reached out. He took Dean’s hand.

**_But in the darkest place, a saving grace_ **

He awoke in the darkness. He was laying down and everything was dark, so dark, darker than his own thoughts. It was different from the last time, however: it was glowing red and pulsing threateningly, as if the Empty had a heart and it was throbbing and calling for death and suffering. Something was screaming, its voice sharp and painful to Castiel’s ears. Tentacles of viscous slime were crawling towards him.

“Cas. You’re awake. Thank fuck.”

Cas turned, and here Dean was, leaning over him. His smile was relieved, although his eyes were anxiously daring back and forth.

“Dean,” Cas’s voice came, throaty and painful. “You shouldn’t have come.”

Dean shook his head with disbelief, clasped his hand around his, and helped him up. “As if I’d abandon you. C’mere. We have to hurry. I think the gooey bitch won’t let you go without a fight. You ready to run?”

Castiel hesitated. He felt feeble and unsteady on his legs. And his grace – his grace was weak, weaker than in the past months. “Dean, you should get out of here.”

“Nope. Not happening,” Dean answered, his face ferocious. His grip tightened around Cas’s hand, almost painfully. “You follow me. We get out of here. Don’t even _think_ of not jumping with me out of that portal, okay? Don’t even _think_ of it or I swear I’ll come back and drag you on Earth if I have to. Don’t even _dare_. Not after—don’t think of it. Not happening.”

Dean’s eyes were searching his, desperate and pleading as Cas had rarely seen. It reminded him of Purgatory. This was not a good memory. But just as Dean had looked for him then, he had come for him now. And that? That was too precious for Cas to waste.

So he nodded. “Alright, Dean.”

Dean nodded back. “Then we run.”

**_After all we've been through_ **

And run they did.

Things were blurry in Castiel’s mind. Everything was painful, and he felt feeble and groggy.

He knew, on some level, that this, right there, was the battle of their life. Dean gave him a dagger at some point, while they ran, and they attacked the slime with it. The red pulsations grew louder and louder, and even though Cas had no idea how or why it happened, they weakened him even more. Each time the deadly heart of the Empty beat, he felt his state worsen.

The gooey tentacles were more and more numerous by the minute. They were not attacking Dean – perhaps, Cas supposed in his fevered, half-conscious state, because Dean was human and humans weren’t the Empty’s prerogative – but they seemingly took great pleasure in attacking Cas. Their touch burnt; their grip scarred. They attacked his legs, his face, his arms, his torso, his grace itself.

What happened if an angel died in the Empty? Was there someplace else dead angels went to if their remnants were killed? Would it be purely empty there, Cas wondered – no noise, no darkness, no torture, nothing, not even awareness?

“No,” Dean told him. “You won’t die, Cas. You won’t die again, you won’t die on me, Cas, keep running, I’ve got you –”

Had he said these things out loud?

Dean was carrying him by that point, and stabbing the tentacles away with his free hand. It reminded Castiel of Hell, of when he had rescued Dean’s soul from the demons. He had had to carry him too, after convincing Dean to trust and follow him (that hadn’t been easy). He had had to fight demons away until they reached the way out. He knew Dean didn’t remember any of it, not on a conscious level, but sometimes he wondered –

“It’s here!” Dean screamed in his ear. “We’re almost done, Cas, we’re almost there –”

Then, there was but agonising pain as the Empty swallowed him whole and ripped him apart. “NO!” he heard screaming, and Dean was pulling him away forcefully, and he felt himself fall–

**_Though it kills me to say this_ **

Castiel woke up for the second time in a different place. The ground was cold under him, and everything hurt. He was being held, though, gently, oh so gently.

A hand was caressing his face, tender and loving, brushing the hair away from his forehead and wiping away the tears and the sweat (had he cried? he wondered).

“It’s over, Cas,” Dean’s voice said, trembling with feelings Castiel was too tired to decipher. (Joy? Relief?) “We’re here. We’re on Earth again. You’ve done it. You’re back.”

“Is he okay?” That was Sam’s voice.

“I don’t know,” Dean whispered. “The Empty, it hurt him... And I think—I’m not sure—but he’ll be okay.”

And then, “He’s alive, Sam, he’s alive.”

“Welcome back, Cas,” Sam said softly.

Cas opened his eyes, then. They were burning, but he wanted to look, he needed to know...

He could see the light of the stars from the cracks in the ceiling. The walls—the smell—the ground—

They were in a barn.

No – not a barn.

 _The_ barn.

He laughed, weakly.

Was it how it ended? Like it had started? In a barn, after one of them had pulled the other from perdition and rebuild him whole? Because that was what Dean’s touch on his face was doing to him: rebuilding him, reviving him, resurrecting him. He was hurt and dead, but alive under Dean’s careful touch – oh, so alive.

**_There's a little bit of God in you_ **

Castiel didn’t remember much after that. He fell in and out of consciousness, welcoming the absence of pain just as much as he welcomed the feeling of life.

He felt two pairs of strong but gentle arms carrying him, and the feeling of wind on his face.

Then the smell of leather, and warmth, and the sound of an engine roaring softly, of tires on the road. _Baby_.

“We’re going home, alright, Cas?”

It had to be a dream, because Cas was most certainly laying on the back seat, but he was being held, and the person holding him smelt like Dean, and the voice so close to him was Dean’s as well. It was strictly impossible that Dean were not driving his car. He would not let Sam do it.

But it was a sweet dream, and after his stay in the Empty, Castiel needed those. He had always been a dreamer, and he had always dreamt of what he could not have. It was a terrible life choice, and something he should be careful not to indulge in later on, but right now, he was tired, so tired, and this dream was comfort rather than torture – so he let himself enjoy it.

He’d worry about that later.

He was sleeping half the time, on the brink of a blackout, lulled by the familiar and oh-so-real rocking of the car. He felt, however, when he was being carried again; he felt a breeze of fresh air on his face.

“Jack says hello,” Dean laughed softly. Cas didn’t understand, but this _felt_ like Jack indeed – sweet, innocent, loving – and Jack seemed happy, and Dean sounded happy too, and that was all that mattered.

Cas opened his eyes, briefly. Above him, the starry sky was stunning, reminding Castiel of the beauty of the universe, of its cosmic and magnificent infinity.

Nothing was more stunning that Dean’s face leaning over him, though, his features both creased with worry and relaxed with relief.

Exhaustion must have been playing tricks on Castiel’s mind, because Dean was looking at him as though he had never seen anything prettier or holier.

**_There's a little bit of God in everything_ **

Then the smell of the Bunker – home.

Castiel was _home_. He couldn’t help but smile. Dean had come – Dean had brought him home. Castiel had known, the day he had chosen to put his life in Dean’s hands, when he entrusted Dean with his fate, that he could trust Dean. He had never expected Dean to come for him, but he should have known better, of course he should have. He had faith in Dean more than in anything else in the world.

The next thing he knew, he was being laid carefully on a mattress.

“Do you need—” Sam’s voice asked.

“No, Sam, thanks. It’s alright. I’ll take it from here.”

Dean’s voice was softer than ever. It wasn’t simply that he was whispering; there was a gentle tone to his words, something Cas couldn’t quite put his finger on (as humans said).

Then the mattress dipped next to him, and Cas felt a hand on his arm. “Cas,” Dean said. “Cas, you awake?”

Cas opened his eyes, laboriously. Dean was watching him intently, searching his face. “Okay. Good. Er, Cas – I have to take care of your injuries, alright? It’ll – It’ll hurt a bit, you won’t be able to sleep for now, but it’ll soon be over, okay?”

Castiel nodded, and he thought, dimly, that if dying and being injured was what it took for Dean to be so gentle, he should do it more often.

It didn’t look like Dean’s usual reaction to when he came back from the dead or to when he was injured, however. _That_ was strange. What was different? What had changed?

**_From the sun in the sky and the tears that you cry_ **

“Cas—er – I’ll have to remove your clothes to heal you. Are you – are you okay with that?”

Dean couldn’t seem to be able to look him the face. His eyes were darting in every direction, as they had in the Empty, except that this time he wasn’t looking for the enemy. His cheeks were a little red.

“Yes, of course,” Cas answered. His voice was raspier than usual.

“Okay. Okay,” Dean muttered. His brow was creased, as if he didn’t like the idea.

Regardless of his thoughts on the matter, his gestures were nothing but considerate as he removed Castiel’s shoes and his trench-coat. They were trembling as he undid his tie. Castiel could feel his slightly short breath on his jaw as he did so, and Cas remembered another time – not so long ago, yet it felt like centuries – when Dean’s hands and breath had trembled against him just like so, when Dean had teached him how to tie his tie. He still had not figured out why; perhaps because Dean hated intimacy and closeness, especially with him. Dean’s hands kept trembling as he undid all the buttons of Cas’s shirt and then of his pants, and helped him out of them. Cas would have loved to help him, but he was too weak and numb to even move. He didn’t miss any moment of it, though – he didn’t miss the way Dean’s eyes avoided him, or the tension in his neck and shoulders.

Well. After all, Castiel had confessed his love. He shouldn’t be surprised with Dean’s reaction.

It was more than enough that Dean had come for him. Because beyond Castiel’s futile, foolish love, they were friends first and foremost. He would have to remember to tell Dean that – to remind him that he expected and wanted nothing, that he harboured no hope.

Hopefully, that would be enough. They were stronger than that.

**_There's a little bit of God in everything_ **

“I’m going to wash your face, alright?” Dean said. Castiel nodded wordlessly. 

Dean’s hands were ever so kind and gentle on him as he wiped the blood away from his face with a cloth. Tender, even. Cas wished he could close his eyes and relax into his touch, but that was not something he was allowed to do.

The wet towel Dean was using came back drenched in blood. That was when Cas noticed that his clothes were soaked with it too. His heart gave a pang of regret for his loyal trench-coat and his tie. He had grown used to them, as stupid as it was to get attached to the ephemeral and the unimportant. But after all, Cas had always been more human than angel, or so everybody said. He wasn’t entirely sure it was something he regretted being.

“It’s gonna hurt a little, okay? But you’ll be fine, promise,” Dean warned him.

And indeed, it was painful when Dean disinfected each injury, one by one, and stitched the skin back together. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Castiel knew that it shouldn’t hurt – angels didn’t suffer – but after all, his grace had been declining. As of last, he had been needing to sleep and eat more, his angelic senses had grown imprecise and dimmed, and he used his powers but with extreme caution and restriction.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew already, but he was too tired to care. “That’s a problem for future Cas,” as Dean would say, because sometimes, enjoying the moment was all you got. Happiness tended to escape as soon as you looked it in the face, Cas knew that better than anyone else now. The real happiness was in the small moments, in living them fully, without questioning or doubting or wanting or regretting. Perhaps happiness wasn’t to be found, perhaps it was just everywhere and you only had to seize it and relish it when things got dark and desperate.

**_From the dirt that we hold to our diamonds and gold_ **

Dean put water on every one of his injuries. After some time, he looked up to Cas – as if he had finally gathered the courage to meet his gaze – and smiled. “This water –” he shook the bottle he was pouring the water from, “it was blessed by Jack. That should heal any injury, even from a cosmic asshole like the Empty. You’ll be good as new soon, Cas.”

Cas already felt new under Dean’s touch, even if everything was sore, but he didn’t say that. Instead he said, “Jack? He has his powers back?”

“Better than that,” Dean smiled. “Jack is God now.”

Cas thought about it for a while. “That makes sense.” He remembered the visions of a golden world he had had while Jack was still in the womb. Jack was God – now this was a God Cas would believe in, a God he would be proud to have faith in.

Dean gave him a smile – small, secretive, as if they understood each other and were sharing something only they knew about – and went back to take care of Castiel’s injuries.

He took care of Cas’s chest first, then the shoulders, then the arms, then the back, and finally his legs. Cas expected Dean’s fingers to shake, but they were steady and focused, trying not to hurt him as if Cas was something fragile and precious that a mere touch could break.

Dean didn’t know, though, that the tenderness in his touch was breaking Cas, just a little, at the same time that it healed him. Cas hadn’t known either, until now, that a mere touch could repair and rupture at the same time. Cas felt resurrected and torn at the seams, and he relished every second of it, even through the pain in his body and the sting of the needle.

He had always known Dean’s hands were meant for love, no matter what Dean said about the blood that covered them and the knives they were used to hold. And this touch was only a best friend’s touch, a brother-in-arms’s touch. The fortunate woman who would one day ensnare his heart and mind – as he had ensnared Castiel’s everything – would have the privilege to taste a different kind of love, and Castiel’s head spinned a little at that thought. How better than _that_ could it get?

**_I finally realized just how lonely you have really been_ **

Dean took care of his face last.

“It’s going to hurt,” he whispered. Why was his voice so low? Why was he so close? His breath on Cas’s face was reward and punishment.

Still better than the Empty, now.

Castiel closed his eyes as Dean’s protective hands disinfected, bandaged and stitched. Dean’s touch had grown even more gentle. It was as if he barely dared touch Castiel’s skin – was he afraid that Cas’s state would worsen? Castiel couldn’t tell him, though, that he barely felt the pain, but that Dean’s fingers alone shattered him in a million pieces.

If he closed his eyes hard enough, it was enough for him to believe that Dean’s touch was not afraid, or disgusted, but reverent. That it was shy and nervous instead. Castiel scolded himself. He had decided to let all hope go, to bid farewell to all his thoughts of this nature. If he was back, if he was to be near Dean again, he shouldn’t do that anymore, for himself and for Dean. They both deserved better.

How could Dean touch him like _that_ , when Cas didn’t deserve his love? It wasn’t simply that it wouldn’t be returned, it was also that Castiel was not worthy of it anyway. Indulging in such fantasies was disrespectful to Dean – to think that Dean _could even_ —

And yet, when Dean touched him like that – when his fingers were caressing his eyebrows oh-so-softly, when they accidentally brushed against his skin for longer than they should have, when Dean stroked his cheek to assess the damage the Empty had caused... When Dean’s fingers did all that and sent electricity and warmth in all of Castiel’s being, it felt as though Cas were being worshipped. Castiel felt like a stolen idol – revered, adored, and undeserving of it all, stolen from the barbarous world in which he belonged to be cleaned anew in the hands of a rapt adulator.

It should have felt unclean, to think of Dean like that, to imagine that Dean were doing that. But as it were, Cas felt all but unclean. Dean’s touch felt divine and sacred, and Castiel felt pure and cleansed under his touch, as if Dean were washing out the hurt from him as Cas had done to him when he held his soul in his hands, back in Hell.

Then Dean’s hand brushed against his lips – an accident – and it was trembling again, and Dean murmured, “Here you go, good as new,” and Cas opened his eyes.

**_Why couldn't I see it before?_ **

Cas was drowning in Dean’s green eyes. He often was, as a matter of fact – Dean held that kind of power over him – but this time was different, because Dean looked at him... differently.

(Cas was tired. His vocabulary was slightly impacted by his state, and “different” was an excellent term that applied to _everything_ in the situation he was currently in.)

Dean’s face looked less tense than usual, as if he had let go of the perpetual strain that restrained him from being happy. Oh, it was still there, but Dean’s face looked softer than it had in a long, long time – Cas fondly remembered a time when Dean’s laugh was free instead of forced, when true joy would spark in his eyes, even if rarely.

Dean looked nervous, though, his eyes darting back and forth between Castiel’s eyes, as he were looking for something and only Castiel’s face held the truth. The anger was gone, too, Cas noticed absently. There was still concern, but none of the harshness that Dean directed his way as of late. No, his gaze looked... expectant, and anxious, and embarrassed, and something else, too, but not angry.

For one second, Cas could almost believe that Dean’s gaze was _loving_. Like Dean was beholding a god, like Dean saw something precious and divine in him.

Cas was strongly reminded of Dean’s face when he found him in Purgatory, and after that, too, when Cas came back to Earth, and when Naomi’s control over him broke, and when Cas came back from the Empty, three years ago.

These looks had always given Cas too much hope for his own good.

“You should sleep,” Dean whispered.

“I’ve already been sleeping, Dean,” Cas replied.

“No, you need _good_ sleep. At home. And good dreams, not nightmares.”

Dean unhurriedly pushed him down the bed, smiling to him. His gaze was strange, as if Dean were seeing him for the first time, or as if he were seeing him for who he really was. It was unsettling.

“Sleep,” Dean said again, as he fluffed up the pillows and tucked Castiel in the blankets. Everything was warm and comfy, and Cas felt himself drift away.

“Dean—”

“Hush. Now sleep. You’re safe. You’re home.”

And just like that, Cas fell asleep.

**_Is that why you let the devil in?_**

Cas came back to consciousness after what felt like a second and centuries, simultaneously. His body felt heavy and sluggish, and it took him an eternity (at the very least) to open his eyes. They immediately landed on Dean, who – as he discovered – was sitting on a chair just next to the bed.

“Cas!” Dean exclaimed immediately, jumping to his feet. “How’re you feeling?”

“Tired,” Cas groaned, and he hid his head in the pillow.

Dean laughed – a joyful, free laugh like Cas hadn’t heard in so long. It was enough for him to look up again. Dean was looking at him fondly, seemingly amused.

“Look at you. Ruffled hair, grumpy, pillow creases – you, sir, aren’t a morning person.”

Cas didn’t answer. Hopefully, his glare was enough to convey his feelings on the matter.

But then Dean sat down next to him, and took Cas’s chin in his hand, looking him up and down.

“Everything’s healed,” he said, looking up and down Cas’s chest and arms as well. “Good. Any pain?”

“I’m just a little sore. I’m okay, Dean,” Cas said.

“Right. Right. Good,” Dean said, looking flushed for a reason Cas couldn’t quite fathom. “Jack’s magic potion or blessed water or whatever worked – good, good. Sam will be very relieved. Jack, too. Everyone, in fact. Everyone is very happy that you’re back, Cas.”

“I am, too,” Castiel assured him, propping himself up.

They shared a smile. Dean’s smile was small, but happy. His eyes were shining with joy, and Cas felt his stomach flutter. The sensation worsened when Dean looked – just for one second – at his lips.

_What did we say about useless hope?_

“Dean – thank you,” Cas said. He didn’t know how to say it, how to convey how grateful and moved he was that Dean came for him.

“Well. That’s what we do.” Dean looked away. “Are you – are you okay? Can I leave you alone for one sec?”

“Of course you can—”

“No, I shouldn’t,” Dean said to himself.

“Dean. I’m not breakable. I’ll go and –” Cas felt at this moment that his bladder was painfully full. Well. It answered a few questions he had. “I’ll go urinate and shower. Do what you have to.”

Dean’s eyes went round and wide for a moment, as though he were horrified and afraid at the same time. He stood up in a hurry and turned his back to Cas; the tension was back in his shoulders and neck all of a sudden. He rummaged through his cupboard. “Here – a tee and pants – they should fit – take them – I lend them to you – I _give_ them to you, actually – I’ll help you go in the shower—”

“Dean. I’m fine. Go,” Cas interrupted him.

“Cas—”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m a – er – a big boy, as you say. I can handle myself alone.”

Dean blushed some more, but nodded. “I’ll be back.”

**_In the darkest place, I will follow you_ **

The shower was relaxing for Castiel. It washed away what soreness remained. “Good as new” indeed, he thought as he inspected his skin in the mirror. No gashes, no cuts, nothing, except the stitches that still had to be removed. He should have expected it; if Jack truly had divine power, then water blessed by his hand had to hold extraordinary power.

The clothes Dean gave him smelled exactly like Dean. Cas could smell that, even if his senses were dulled. Even if his grace had been low as of late, he had still been able to catch all the complexities in Dean’s smell – the musk, the leather of the Impala, the slight scents of gunpowder, whiskey and burgers. The smell was still undeniably Dean’s, though. (Cas couldn’t help but wonder if he would be able to smell the exact aroma of Dean one day. Probably not, unless Dean, by some miracle, agreed to let Cas smell the crook of his neck and other areas Dean probably wouldn’t let him go near in a million years.) Cas was surprised that they didn’t smell like laundry and detergent. Had Dean given him the clothes he slept in?

He carefully looked away from the mirror. His cheeks were a little too red for his taste.

Stupid, stupid Castiel.

When he walked out of the room he found Dean waiting for him, sitting on the bed and holding a tray full of food. His eyes trailed on Cas’s body, taking in the fact that Cas was wearing his clothes, and he quickly looked down on the tray. “I cooked you some food,” he said, “you need it, I guess.”

Cas felt guilty that he assumed Dean wanted out and had better things to do, when Dean had left him only to cook him– was it _breakfast_?

Dean stood up, letting him sit on the bed. “I can go and eat in the kitchen, Dean,” Cas said, but Dean shook his head vigorously. “You’ve just been pulled out from Super Hell. That’s an occasion for breakfast in bed. Here you go,” he smiled, putting the tray on Cas’s knees. “I guess burgers aren’t healthy food, but, hey – we gotta celebrate, huh? And burgers make you very, very happy, I remember you said?” He winked at Cas.

“Thank you, Dean.”

The burger was _delicious_. He had missed the sense of taste, although it had come back lately. But now, he could fully enjoy the burger Dean had cooked for him. Dean had never cooked anything for him; this was new, and it was almost as delicious as the burger.

“It was _delicious_ ,” he said after eating the two burgers Dean had cooked him.

“You like it?” Dean said, beaming. “Great. Great. Good.”

He took the tray away from Cas and put it on the desk. After an hesitation, he sat down on the bed in front of Cas.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked tentatively.

“Well. All my injuries have healed, I am satiated, clean, and I am home, so I think we could say I am in fact alright, Dean.”

Dean smiled a little at that.

“Thank you,” Castiel added. “For coming and getting me out of the Empty. I – I really appreciate it, Dean.”

Dean coughed a little, looking embarrassed. He smiled nevertheless, his eyes honest and fond as he said, “Any time, Cas, any time.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

Dean scoffed. “As if I – I mean _we_ could abandon you. Not happening, Cas.” He hesitated, looking down at his hands. “Hey, Cas, you – you know that I’m here for you, right? No matter what. The good and the bad, I’m here for... everything.”

**_There's a little bit of God in everything_ **

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said softly. He didn’t know what else to say. Sometimes, it was just so easy to forget that Dean was there for him indeed.

“Cas,” Dean said again. He outstretched his arm as if to touch Cas’s hand, but then seemed to think better of that and retrieved his hand. “What happened in the Empty—the nightmares this bitch made you live— Why—”

“That’s what the Empty does,” Cas explained. “It makes us relive our failures and our regrets on a loop.”

“For eternity?” Dean asked, wincing.

“For eternity.”

Dean licked his lips, nervously. “I saw – there were a lot of _me_ in there. A lot of me dead.”

Ah. Castiel should have known he would have to talk about it, sooner or later. He had thought he had dodged that conversation years ago, but things had a tendency to come back and bite him in the ass, as Dean often said.

“Well. When Naomi took control over me, she... she made me kill replicas of you, to make sure I would be able to kill the real you.”

“Oh.” That was all that Dean said. He swallowed, and Cas followed the movement of his Adam apple with his eyes. “She made you do it... kind of a lot of times.”

“Yeah.”

Cas was looking down at his own hands too.

“Cas,” Dean said abruptly, his voice hoarse. “Cas, the other versions of me I saw – and Sam, and Jack, and – Cas, do you ever regret it? Meeting me? Getting me out of Hell? Choosing our side?”

“What?” Cas looked up so quickly that his neck cracked. “Dean. Of course not. I would never regret meeting you and choosing you. Never. I thought – I thought I had made that clear. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, Dean.”

“But all these nightmares—”

“My regrets are not about choosing you. They are about my inability to protect you, and Sam, and Jack, and all those I love, from harm.” He hesitated, then reached forward, touching Dean’s arm with his hand. “Dean, you will never be a regret I have.”

Dean looked up. His smile was sad. “Not being able to protect those you love – I get that.”

“I know you do,” Cas whispered.

**_From the sun in the sky to the tears that we cry_ **

“And these words they were saying, all those assholes,” Dean added. This time, his voice was shaking with anger. “You shouldn’t listen to them. They’re wrong. You’re not what they say. You are – Chuck was wrong about you too. You don’t have a crack in your chassis or whatever shit he was saying, okay? You are...” Dean seemed at a loss for words. He flailed his arms around him, probably to demonstrate his point.

“I’m an abnormality among angels,” Cas prompted.

“No, you’re what angels are _supposed_ to be! You are – Cas, you are the one person in the entire universe that defied God, disobeyed him, and won. That’s – that’s pretty extraordinary, Cas. I’m – I’m proud to know you, you know that? I mean –” He suddenly stopped talking, looking embarrassed and nervous once again. If he had asked Cas, though, he would have told Dean those were the words he wanted and needed to hear; that they were soothing an open wound, because Dean – the one who mattered – thought he was _extraordinary_ , Dean didn’t see a failure or a disappointment but an _accomplishment_ in him... “We couldn’t have done any of it without you. I couldn’t have – we couldn’t have defeated Chuck if you hadn’t –” He stopped once again.

“ _How_ did you do it, exactly?” Cas asked.

Dean seemed relieved to find another subject to talk of. He told Castiel everything – Chuck’s new plan, Jack’s new capacities, the return of Michael and Lucifer, the betrayals, the plan, Jack becoming God.

“Why did you open the door to Lucifer?” Cas asked, frowning.

“Well – he impersonated you. We thought it was you.”

“You should have been more careful, Dean. It was rather obvious it was a trap.”

Dean mumbled something unintelligible in answer.

**_There's a little bit of God in everything_ **

Castiel thought the kind thing to do would be to change the subject once again.

“So, Jack is God,” he beamed.

“Yeah,” Dean chuckled. “He’ll make one hell of a God, you know.”

“One _heaven_ of a God, hopefully,” Cas corrected him – but he smiled as he said so.

“Did you make a joke? A good one?” Dean asked, laughing.

“I’ve been getting better,” Cas said. Then he went serious again. “Jack will not be Chuck. He will be much better.”

Dean nodded. “He said... he said he wouldn’t intervene in our lives like Chuck did. That he wouldn’t turn people’s lives into a story. He said that he saw what faith could do, or something, and that he wouldn’t be that kind of God – he won’t ask for sacrifices or anything. He said he was in everything, always... and that the answer was in our hearts.”

Cas’s own heart swelled with pride at this thought. They had raised him well. His little Jack, who had learnt from his mistakes, who would lead humanity to a golden age... That was one faith that Cas hadn’t misplaced. “The divine is in everything,” he sighed. “And love is in everything, too. Love is the answer. This – this is what it was always supposed to be.”

Dean looked gobsmacked. He blinked, once, twice, very quickly, and swallowed quite laboriously, as if something were struck in his throat. “I – uh. Love. Love is divine. Love is in everything. Love is the answer. Yeah. Makes sense.”

He was looking at Cas in such a peculiar way... Cas couldn’t decipher the emotions in Dean’s eyes. It wasn’t something he had seen before – as if Dean was looking at him anew, as if he saw something different there.

**_From the dirt that we hold to our diamonds and gold_ **

Perhaps that was because Cas had uttered the word “love” again. It probably made Dean nervous. Perhaps he didn’t know how to tell Cas what he already knew – that his feelings weren’t returned and would never be, and that he, Dean, had difficulties dealing with Castiel’s revelation.

What if Dean avoided him now? What if Dean stopped looking at him like a friend and took his distances?

There had been a relief in knowing that he’d never see the repulsion and the rejection on Dean’s face. Now that he was confronted with it, though, Castiel found that he couldn’t bear it, even if he knew it to be inescapable. Perhaps – with any luck – they wouldn’t have to acknowledge that thing hanging between them now that made the atmosphere uncomfortable. So, Castiel decided that he would love to postpone the rejection for as long as he could, and he changed subjects once again.

“Where is Jack now?” he asked.

Dean shrugged. “He’s taking care of the Empty. Negotiating, putting it to sleep. And Sam is with Eileen. He said he’s gonna visit – he, uh, he thought we needed to spend some time together or whatever."

‘Whatever?’ Well, at least Dean was clear on the matter. “You can go,” Cas said, “I don’t want to hold you back.”

“You aren’t!” Dean protested. “I’m – I’m happy to be with you, it’s just – you know, Sam and his way of saying things... Very chick-flick..."

No, Cas didn’t know, but he didn’t have the time to say so because Dean suddenly got closer to him, adding hurriedly: “We’ve got to remove your stitches!”

And sure enough, Dean hurried to his desk and came back with a first-aid kit.

Removing the stitches was not quite as making them. This time, the silence that stretched between them was anything but comfortable. Dean’s fingers barely touched Cas’s skin, as if Dean was afraid of contact now that there was no urgency and now that the elation over their victory had faded. Cas willed himself not to care, but it was a lost cause.

He had always been weak where Dean was concerned.

**_When you're dark and you're sad, and your future's just as bad_ **

“So,” Dean said when he was finally done. “It’s all healed up.”

“Jack’s elixir worked miracles,” Cas agreed.

“Cas, was it – was it Jack’s magic water, or was it your mojo?

Cas looked up to meet Dean’s concerned and apprehensive eyes. His heart sank. Dean had noticed, too, that he needed to sleep and eat and drink and urinate. And Dean, if appearances were to be believed, feared his answer.

Cas sighed. “Dean – I no longer have my ‘mojo,’ as you say. The Empty has ripped my grace from me right before we went through that portal. I am human, now.”

Dean’s silence was deafening. He was looking at Cas with wide, guilty eyes. "Cas—Cas, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have – I should have—”

“Shouldn’t have what, Dean? Come for me?” Cas said, frowning.

“No, of course not – you couldn’t stay in that place – but your grace—”

“I feel at peace with that,” Castiel answered, and as he said it out loud, he realised that it was true. “My grace had been fading, Dean. I would have ended up human regardless of what happened.”

“But with Chuck gone—”

“I don’t believe it would change anything. Angels... aren’t supposed to feel. There is a reason why I started to fall once I was more acquainted with humanity, and why Anna had to rip her own grace away. When Chuck brought me back and gave me my powers, he only postponed the inevitable. Once an angel feels like a human... I guess he stops being an angel.”

He almost told Dean, _I have been falling from grace ever since I fell in love with you_. But it wasn’t quite true – other emotions had been essential, like loyalty, doubt, curiosity, amusement, joy, anger, worry – and Dean would misinterpret it and think it was all his fault. It wasn’t; it was the fault in Castiel’s heart that had started it all.

Dean licked his lips again, nervously. “I’m sorry, Cas.”

“You shouldn’t be. I was worried that... when you and Sam would die... that I would have nothing left. No heaven, no family, for eternity. At least now, this is no longer a problem. And I know how to live as a human now.”

He looked hesitantly at Dean. “I am merely sorry that I will no longer be useful to you.”

“Useful? What do you mean?” Dean looked confused.

“I know,” Cas said slowly – it still hurt, even after all that time being aware of this fact – “that my angelic powers were my only asset to our team—”

“What the hell, Cas,” Dean exclaimed, shocked. “Cas, you’re not an – an asset, or a tool. You’re – you’re family, Cas. We didn’t keep you around because of your powers! We kept you around because...” Dean stopped again, licked his lips a third time. “Because you’re you. That’s the only thing that matters.”

“Oh.”

**_There's a little bit of God in everything_ **

“It is... good to hear,” Cas admitted. He couldn’t help but smile, and Dean’s face went soft and smiling when he saw that.

“And, anyway... ” Dean went on. “Sam and I, we were thinking... maybe we could retire. We’ve done enough, and we’d like to settle down, and... since our luck was all Chuck’s, we don’t want to risk it. There shouldn’t be any other Apocalypse, so we thought about that.” He laughed. “Bringing you back was our last mission, you could say.”

Cas found that his mouth was dry, and his heart was beating a lot too fast. This... knowing that Dean and Sam liked him enough to bring them back... it was one of the most beautiful things he had heard.

“I guess—” Dean said very, very uncertainly, his voice but a barely audible whisper, “I guess your grace being gone... it also means that you don’t have to fear the Empty’s curse anymore. You can... have a good, normal, happy life, too.”

Cas’s heart leapt in his throat (as biologically impossible as it was). So they had reached _that_ moment. 

“I guess so, yes,” he said, whispering as well, although he didn’t know why. It felt sacrilegious to speak louder than that.

“Forbidding you from being happy... What kind of son of a bitch comes up with that?” Dean wondered, his face frowned in disgust.

“I had to save Jack,” Cas pleaded, because he felt like he had to.

Dean looked at him harshly. He looked... hurt. “You should have told us.”

“There never was a good time, Dean.”

“We would have helped you.”

“There was no way to break this curse.”

“We would have found a way, we always do,” Dean asserted stubbornly, his jaw clenched.

“It was my problem, Dean!”

“You’re my family! _Your_ problems are _mine_!”

“It wasn’t that important—”

“You not being happy _is_ fucking important, Cas!”

“Why?”

“Because you deserve it!” Dean screamed.

“Not when I couldn’t have what I—”

Dean was looking at him with wide eyes, and that made Castiel pause. Dean was trembling, and looking at him intently, hanging to his every word and breathing heavily as if he was out of breath, his eyes darting to Cas’s lips – undoubtedly waiting for, or perhaps fearing, the words that were about to come out of them.

**_When you're hurt and you're sour, even in your darkest hour_ **

“Let’s stop fighting, Dean,” Cas said exhaustedly. “I hate fighting with you. I don’t want that anymore.”

“Me neither,” Dean agreed softly. “Let’s just—”

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, a gesture Cas had come to recognise as a sign of anxiety when Dean did it.

“Cas,” Dean said eventually. “When you said—when you said the only thing that would make you happy was something you knew you couldn’t have, you meant...” He paused, as if unable to let the words out.

“Yes, Dean,” Cas told him helpfully. “I meant... _that_.”

“No, you don’t get it. What did you mean? What did you really mean? What is it that you – that you think you can’t have?”

Cas frowned in disbelief. “I had thought it was obvious. Dean, I—” The words were harder to say this time, perhaps because there would be actual, serious consequences this time around, or perhaps because being forced to tell them was simply too straining. “Dean, I love you.”

Dean’s breath hitched. He looked at Cas, briefly, eyes wide and afraid and... hoping? “You mean as family, of course,” Dean whispered, his voice strangely hoarse.

“I don’t mean it that way, no,” Cas answered, perplexed.

“Ha!” Dean fake-laughed, his voice shaking. “But you don’t mean— of course you can’t mean—I mean, you’re an angel, you don’t feel like humans do, huh?”

“An angel who fell from grace because he felt human emotions,” Cas reminded him, his puzzlement growing by the second.

Was it possible that Dean... hadn’t understood?

Had he died confessing and leaving Dean to think his confession was _brotherly_?

It was an out for him, he realised suddenly. He could go with Dean’s version of what happened, tell Dean that he indeed meant brotherly love, and forget the mortifying embarrassment and the fear of rejection.

Yet... yet it wasn’t true to himself, and he hadn’t forgotten the cheer relief and happiness in letting himself feel, in letting himself be honest with Dean and with himself, the joy of being free from those chains.

And... and there was something in Dean’s gaze... Castiel had always been so stupidly hopeful...

“I meant _you_ specifically, Dean,” he clarified. “Not Sam, or Jack. You.”

“And you meant... you didn’t mean friendship or—or family...”

“I meant it in the romantic sense,” Cas let out. “I meant that I am _in love_ with you, Dean.

“ _Oh_.”

 _Oh_ , indeed.

**_There's a little bit of God in everything_ **

Dean didn’t seem able to tear his eyes away from Cas’s face, as if he were rediscovering him entirely.

“You sure? I mean, a hundred percent sure?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Cas said, and perhaps he rolled his eyes a little.

In front of him, Dean was being more and more jittery. He was barely breathing now, and Cas couldn’t fathom why, or what Dean was thinking about.

“So, erm, what you want is—a relationship. A romantic relationship,” Dean said, searching his face.

“But I am aware that it will never happen, Dean, don’t worry. It’s okay.”

“And, uh, how is that?”

Cas was growing worried with Dean’s lack of understanding. “Well... you don’t feel that way about me, Dean. And it’s alright,” he added quickly, not wanting Dean to get the wrong idea.

“And... that’s why you never said anything.”

“Obviously.”

“Ah. Hum. And, hum—for how long?”

“I don’t know, Dean. Probably... probably from the beginning.” _From the moment I held your soul in my hand and perceived the wonder that you are, Dean Winchester._

“Ok. Ok. I, uh, ok,” Dean said, rather lamely. “I, uh, I just needed to check.”

“This is not a problem,” Cas added. “I know my feelings aren’t returned and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable with my... affections. Everything should remain the same, nothing has to change between us—”

“Yeah, uh, well, about that...” Dean said, tentatively.

**_From the king to the fool to the bastards back at school_ **

Castiel braced himself for the words that would come – not only rejection, but also, perhaps, the end of their friendship, because Dean had always been rather... sensitive on the matter of masculine affection, personal space, and things like that.

But, he found with wonder and stupefaction, Dean was looking at him just like he had the night before: with awe, and incredulity, and – and _reverence_. He looked as that one blind man had looked after Cas had given him his sight back; or as that other one that had found water after days in the desert; or that woman, looking at a child kicking and crying in her arms after years of hope and despair; or all those who arrived in Heaven after doubting (or never believing) it existed for all their life.

A chill went down Castiel’s spine.

“Dean...”

“Cas, I...”

It was then that Castiel noticed that they had been inching closer to one another; that their knees were touching; that Dean’s trembling hand had gripped his; and that Dean still hadn’t made any effort towards fleeing or pushing Cas away, and hope bloomed in his chest, beautiful, tentative, and disbelieving .

**_There's a little bit of God in everything (Getting all your diamonds and gold)_ **

“Cas—Cas, I...” Dean’s voice was breathless. His eyes were darting everywhere, but they always refocused on Cas. “Cas...” This sigh... this sigh sounded like hope, and longing, and amazement...

Cas couldn’t believe it...

After all these years... impossible...

And then the words came, hurried, barely understandable.

“Cas,Iloveyoutoo.”

And Dean was looking down, and looking up to Cas’s eyes immediately afterwards, and down, and up, again and again, as if he couldn’t look Cas in the eye but still needed to see his reaction.

“Dean—” Cas was panting too now, incapable of believing his own ears. Surely...?

And Dean seemed to think that his words hadn’t been enough, because he repeated them, his voice steadier and firmer, his gaze locked in Cas’s.

“I love you, Cas.”

**_And though you might not be in the finest company_ **

“No, you don’t,” were the words that came out of Cas’s mouth, and he regretted them immediately.

“Yes, I do,” Dean declared, and he was sounding more assertive now. “I have—for some time, now. Been feeling the same way, I mean. For... a very long time, actually. I just didn’t think – I didn’t think it was...”

“Reciprocated,” Cas said.

Dean nodded. “Yeah.” He sucked in a breath. “I mean, how could you – it’s me, and I’m not – I’m too... ”

And Cas didn’t need to hear the words to know what Dean had in mind. _I’m too broken, too damaged, not good enough._ He was thinking the same thing about himself. 

But now that Cas was looking for real – allowing himself to look –, and now that Dean was letting him see – allowing himself to show— Cas saw it, plain and clear. His feelings mirrored. The way Dean looked at his mouth. The way Dean looked at him, with...

With _love_.

“You’re not,” Cas said. “You’re perfect.”

Dean smiled, shy and incredulous. “You are, too.”

**_There's a little bit of God in everything (Getting all your diamonds and gold)_ **

Cas couldn’t quite believe it. All this love in Dean’s eyes... And it was for him, for him, _for him_...

“So, all this time,” Cas said slowly, almost laughing, “all this time we both thought... ”

“Looks like it,” Dean nodded, and his voice was full of glee. His face was softer than ever.

“And all this time we could have...”

“Seems so.”

“We’re idiots.”

“Yeah.”

They laughed together. That was when Cas noticed that they had been inching closer, closer, closer still, and he could feel Dean’s breath on his face. He had to close his eyes, because this was happening.

It was real, it was his, it was _theirs_...

Impossible! And yet, here they were.

He opened his eyes, and Dean was looking at him straight in the eye.

“Hello, Cas,” he said.

So much _love_ in his voice.

“Hello, Dean,” he answered, and he knew there was as much love in his own voice.

**_When you're hurt and you're sour, even in your darkest hour_ **

Dean was looking at his lips, but he wasn’t making a move. They were still holding hands, and their fingers were playing together, and Dean’s other was playing with the hem of the t-shirt Cas was wearing, as if he _wanted_ , but didn’t _dare_...

So Cas made the decision for them both, because he knew that it was hard for Dean, and he felt brave and fearless all of a sudden.

He leant in Dean’s space, and stole Dean’s lips.

**_There's a little bit of God in everything, oh (Getting all your diamonds and gold)_ **

Their first kiss was just like them: beautiful, and desperate.

They devoured each other as if time was counted. They were hungry, they couldn’t have enough, they wanted more, more, _more_.

Cas gripped Dean tight and pulled him closer, closer, until Dean was straddling his lap; and Dean was moaning in his mouth, and smiling in their kiss, and cupping Cas's face.

They were no longer scared. They grew bold, adding teeth and tongue and teasing and fingers in hair and hands on skin. Their lips started travelling and exploring, and Cas felt as a star must feel before it explodes: full of too much and hungry for more, ready to cumbust and comfortably warmed, having found its purpose and reached its apotheosis but knowing that the best was yet to come.

_**From a priest to the whore to the men who start the war** _

Then their kiss grew soft, and Cas was feeling free, so free. The nightmares and the loathing were gone. Dean's rage had vanished too, and the man facing him was tender, loving, and open, no longer taking kisses as if he had to steal them from death and pray that they were real, but as a man savouring everything of his love.

"I love you," he kept saying on Cas's skin, "I love you, I love you. I need you. Cas..." 

And the way he said his name... As if Cas was his universe... 

Cas had heard once that a lover's kiss on one's scars would heal all the hurt and erase the ghosts of every suffering. It was true.

_**There's a little bit of God in everything (Getting all your diamonds and gold)** _

Later, they were lying against each other, their naked chests breathing in and out, feeling the other's heart beat in an intimate marriage of skin, flesh and sensation. Dean's fingers were drawing circles on his arm and his head was nested in the crook of Cas's neck; Castiel had laced their fingers together and he was peppering kisses on Dean's forehead and hair. 

Strangely enough, it felt both new and normal at the same time. Like it was where they were supposed to be. Or like they had already been together for a long time already, in a way. 

"Love you," Dean said sleepily. Cas felt glee at the idea that Dean felt safe enough with him to fall asleep in his arms, in complete abandon. 

Cas, too, felt safer than ever. 

"I know," he answered. 

"Don't Han Solo me," Dean mumbled. 

So Cas laughed and said, "I love you too." 

Dean smiled on his skin and kissed his neck, lightly, sleepily. 

The world had never been so beautiful, Cas thought as he drifted to sleep. 

_**And one day you will see** _

_**Part of you is part of me** _

_**There's a little bit of God in everything** _

Yes, love was indeed the most divine thing in the universe.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think?


End file.
